


And All the World

by lady_krysis (saekhwa)



Category: TV Commercials
Genre: 1000-3000 words, Cunnilingus, F/F, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Femslash, Fingerfucking, Foursome, Foursome - F/F/M/M, M/M, More Joy Day, Multi, POV Female Character, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-09
Updated: 2010-02-09
Packaged: 2017-10-07 03:45:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/61097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saekhwa/pseuds/lady_krysis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's nothing more thrilling than almost getting caught.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And All the World

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to [](http://sweetnlow.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**sweetnlow**](http://sweetnlow.dreamwidth.org/) for being beyond awesome and somewhere way past phenomenal. So remember that super top secret thing I was talking about on More Joy Day? I bring you the story behind this [deliriously hot D &amp; G television ad](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Jr_G2DOD5zk) because (ha!) anything can be a fandom. Seriously. Thanks to [](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/profile)[**lunesque**](http://lunesque.dreamwidth.org/) for catching all of my overly long sentences and being a superb beta as always.

Natalya watches Lorenzo charm the room, specifically Madame Bontecou, whose gloved fingers close around his forearm as she tips up her face in a laugh, voice pitched high enough for amusement but not so high as to be irritating to her guests. It's all so contrived and boring. Regardless, Natalya shares a sly smile with Lorenzo over her glass and sips her wine when the dark-haired gentleman standing next to her starts an innocuous conversation. Natalya half listens, counting off the seconds in her head before she can politely extricate herself, choosing to remain as nameless and faceless as possible in the crowd. Let Lorenzo be the bright shining star of the evening.

She searches out Iosif or Ophelia instead, periodically sweeping her eyes over the room, hoping for some sign that their clever ruse is a success. There is nothing but the waiting, though, that edge where seconds become their own eternity.

With a sigh, Natalya finishes her wine, setting it on a nearby tray, and makes another circuit of the room. On her third tour, as she's passing the stairs, someone draws her sharply to the right. Before she can pull free, shifting to shove a knee between the stranger's legs, a hand closes around her wrist. Recognizing the feather-light touch caressing her pulse, she looks up to see Lorenzo's mouth spreading in a wide, victorious smile, his broad frame hiding her from view. Natalya softly tsks under her breath, sinking her fingers into the thick mass of his hair. Lorenzo leans in as if for a kiss that she considers denying him for the trick, but before their lips meet, Natalya glances down, distracted by a cool weight slipping over her knuckles. She watches Lorenzo fasten one of Madame Bontecou's coveted watches on her wrist, and his lips brush her cheek instead.

"Upstairs," he whispers, skimming his hand up her arm. "Keep the watch."

The corner of her mouth lifted into a coy smile, Natalya strokes her fingers over the gold band and spies the watch adorning Lorenzo's wrist. "You, too," she says, lacing their fingers together.

With a low chuckle, Lorenzo curves an arm around her waist, and they steal up the curving staircase. Once out of sight, their trek down the hall is almost like a dance, full of twists and turns and provocative games, getting close enough to tease but never quite touching. This game is much more fun compared to the one they've won, the one they're winning right now, while Madame Bontecou laughs and dines her guests below, blissfully ignorant of everything she is losing at this very moment. It almost makes Natalya laugh, and she can feel it bubbling up, giddy and light, in her throat.

Doors thrown open, victory all but assured, Natalya bows to the press of Lorenzo's body, arching when she feels the dresser behind her. He holds her gaze and smiles, his mouth only inches from hers, determined to still tease as if she will take the bait. Natalya hooks a leg around his calf, tilting her face up. She curls her fingers into his dress shirt and reels him in instead. The crush of their lips is sweet; it makes Natalya's pulse beat harder, sending a rush of warmth between her legs in anticipation. Lorenzo sweeps his lips down, barely a whisper over the swell of her breast, and then he's drawing her hand up, brushing his mouth over her pulse point and over the mound below her thumb. She tugs his face back up, cupping it between her palms, lost in the warmth of his eyes. The kiss is brief, playful, and this only becomes one more game, the push and pull of their bodies, the drag of Lorenzo's mouth down her throat, the clench of her fingers in his tux, the slip of his hand over her gold gown.

They're locked in another kiss, this one deeper, more heated, when Natalya spies Iosif walking toward them with a look so intense that it makes Natalya squeeze her thighs together, trapping Lorenzo's fingers at the vee of her legs. Lorenzo looks up and then follows the pull of Natalya's eyes just as Iosif reaches them. Smug and confident, Iosif smiles, a brief quirk of his lips aimed at Lorenzo as he takes Natalya's hand, drawing her flush against his body, his left hand following the dip of her waist to the swell of her hip. She lifts her face up, tracing the line of his jaw with the tips of her fingers. Iosif complies, eyes dark, taking a moment to drink her in before he slants his mouth over hers, and she shivers when he demands something harder, sucking her bottom lip between his teeth, the broad span of his hand cupping the back of her neck.

Natalya enjoys the tug of war that they engage in next, Lorenzo pressing at her back, his mouth on her throat before he twists her around so Iosif's breath is warm at her ear, his fingers sliding over her gown to press between her legs, making her gasp. She delights in the give and take, spinning in both of their arms, relishing the caress of their mouths and hands, her own searching for more skin. She is surprised to see Lorenzo shrug out of his tuxedo first and imagines some secret passing between them when Iosif draws her into a kiss, the brief sting of his teeth earning a shiver that makes Natalya nip his upper lip. Then she gentles it, teasing her tongue along the seam of his mouth, urging his lips apart. The tip of his tongue caresses hers in a slow slide that Natalya welcomes with a soft moan, angling her head to draw it into her mouth, and then Lorenzo is dragging her back and onto the touch.

Natalya arches back, her head pressing against Lorenzo's shoulder, welcoming his palm on her breast with a pleased gasp. She snakes an arm up to curl in his hair, scraping her nails over his scalp as she watches Iosif undress. Natalya extends a hand to Iosif, turning her head to claim Lorenzo's mouth, turning back when she feels the firm press of Iosif's body next to hers. Iosif slides a hand up her thigh—Lorenzo tilts her head back for another kiss—then Iosif's mouth is at her breast, his teeth leaving a trail of stinging marks over the curve that make Natalya moan and heat gather between her legs. She leans back and takes Iosif's hand, sliding it up and up until he's fingering the seam of her panties, his thumb pressing in a slow, tight circle over her clit. Natalya bites her bottom lip against a whimper, expels a breathless gasp, squeezes Iosif's wrist in a wordless request for more.

Lorenzo teases her, rubbing his mouth against her jaw and the shell of her ear. He squeezes her thigh and gently pulls, dotting the line of her jaw with kisses. Iosif doesn't tease, though, and holds her eyes as he shoves her panties aside. He rubs the tips of his fingers up her folds before sinking two fingers into her. He bites the slope of her shoulder, the sensation an electric current to Natalya's nerves, the soothing swipe of his tongue making her skin prickle in response. She moans and tightly grasps the back of Iosif's neck, stroking her fingers over the short strands of his hair as she pushes down for a harder thrust, working her hips against his palm. Lorenzo smiles down at her as his fingers slide up and down the inside of her thigh, and Natalya narrows her eyes at that smile. Then Iosif has her arching up, biting her lip against a sharp cry when he twists his fingers. Lorenzo presses his thumb to her chin, freeing her bottom lip from the clutch of her teeth and kisses her, covering her hand on Iosif's nape.

Trapped between them like this, Natalya feels flushed, held on edge. She tugs insistently on Iosif's wrist, screwing her hips down in a hard grind, silently pleading for that rough edge of him that she adores, that she can see in the way he takes Lorenzo's mouth, nipping and sucking until Lorenzo's lips are swollen and red from their kissing. Iosif crooks his fingers inside her, and Natalya tosses her head back, quivering, close, so close, her blood pounding too loudly in her ears.

A scream breaks through the fog of her desire, a cold, tight curl of dread replacing the liquid warm stretch of pleasure through her limbs. Natalya silently curses, pushing Iosif's hand away, her body taut for escape, and her heart racing for an entirely different reason now. Then her frown blooms into a fierce, joyous smile at the sight of Ophelia, grinning like a wild cat, a hand pressed to the servant's mouth to silence her screams. The words Ophelia whispers are vaguely French or perhaps Greek. It's hard to tell with Ophelia; she's always slipping into one of her native languages as smoothly as a diver.

In the next moment, the servant's eyes roll back, her body going limp, and Ophelia sinks to the floor with her, lowering the woman to the ground as carefully as she is able. Ophelia arranges the woman near the doors, which she then pushes shuts and locks, an oversight Natalya recognizes she and Lorenzo should not have allowed. Next time, Natalya thinks, relief spreading through her chest as she leans against Lorenzo, her heart slowing to something not quite so panicked. Natalya watches Ophelia's slim fingers check the woman's pulse and then her pupils and knows all is well when Ophelia pats the woman's cheek.

"Naughty, naughty," Ophelia says, glancing at them over her shoulder as she tucks something, most likely the syringe, into a pocket of her black bag. "You started without me."

"Now, I suppose, we'll all have to wait," Lorenzo says, snatching up his tux.

Ophelia saunters to them, slinking to her knees in front of Natalya, that fierce, wild smile still on her face as she draws circles up Natalya's shins with the tips of her fingers. "Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast, darling." Ophelia skims her fingers higher, and Natalya delicately licks lips suddenly gone dry, unable to look away from Ophelia's face. "It doesn't seem fair that I ensure our success yet don't get to reap the rewards."

"Patience is a virtue," Natalya says, insidiously pleased that her voice doesn't shake, even though she feels breathless with anticipation.

"Yes," Ophelia says, inclining her head, her fingers hooked into Natalya's panties, "but immediate gratification is so much more"—Her smile broadens, and she pulls, forcing Natalya's hips up—"_satisfying_."

Ophelia tugs Natalya's panties down to her knees, leaning in with a pleased hum. She spreads Natalya's legs wider, nibbling a path up the inside of Natalya's thigh until Natalya is quivering just from the wait, from the _almost_. The first delicate flick of Ophelia's tongue has Natalya clenching her fingers in Ophelia's dark hair, her lips parted in a choked moan.

"Ophelia," Natalya gasps, and then Lorenzo and Iosif are over her, too, kissing and licking and biting until she's shuddering and thrashing, halfway pleading.

Ophelia hums again, this one satisfied, and then sinks two fingers in, nipping the inside of Natalya's thigh when she bucks up without warning. Natalya spreads her legs, petting the back of Ophelia's head in apology, and struggles to remain as still as possible, but the thrust of Ophelia's fingers makes her jump and push and shake, keening their names in a strangled moan.

"So noisy," Ophelia softly laughs.

Natalya looks down at her in annoyance. It does not last long; Iosif makes her face go slack and her heart jolt when he sucks hard on her nipple, scraping his teeth over the peak, the bright pleasure of it tingling between her legs and making her squeeze down on Ophelia's fingers. Lorenzo's hand tightens around her thigh, his mouth covering hers and swallowing the sharp cry that Ophelia wrings from her with a hard thrust and a flick of her tongue. Natalya desperately searches for purchase, sinking a hand into Lorenzo's hair, clutching tightly at Iosif's waist, held taut by the way Ophelia toys with her, ratcheting her higher but not offering her enough for release.

Ophelia murmurs endearments against Natalya's skin and crooks her fingers again, but it's not enough. So close, so close— Natalya swivels her hips, snaps them down. A moan catches in her throat, and then she hitches in a breath when Ophelia laps at her with long, broad sweeps of her tongue, dipping in and out between the shallow thrust of her fingers. Ophelia whispers something, but Natalya can't think past the shiver tensing her shoulders at the hot feel of Ophelia's breath on her damp sex; she can't think past _want_ and _now_.

Natalya bites spitefully at Lorenzo's bottom lip when he kisses her, but he only chuckles, a low, dark sound that makes Natalya clench around Ophelia's fingers. She gasps and slaps a hand against Iosif's thigh, squeezing when Iosif bites her neck, his thumb lazily circling her nipple before he pinches and twists, making Natalya jump in a way that earns her another sharp sting of Ophelia's teeth. Then she's being pinned down by their hands, and Ophelia thrusts harder with sharp twists that race across Natalya's nerves like tiny, little electric shocks.

"Пожалуйста!" Natalya whimpers, tangling her fingers into Ophelia's hair, digging her nails into Ophelia's scalp, hoping to press Ophelia into giving her that more she needs.

Natalya sucks in a breath when she feels Ophelia blow sweetly on her clit. She's held breathless when Ophelia swirls her tongue around it, and then Natalya cries out in relief when Ophelia sucks it, hard. Natalya bows, breaking on a moan that she muffles against Lorenzo's neck, feeling the prickle of tears dotting her lashes from the tingling rush lighting through her limbs. She falls back onto the couch, her heart beating wild in the cage of her chest, and she feels lazy and drunk and deliciously boneless now that all her pent up adrenaline has found an outlet.

Ophelia croons something in French, but Natalya is only able to identify 'you' and 'very beautiful,' and the rest is lost against her skin when Ophelia dusts her thigh with kisses.

"Time for us to make our grand escape," Ophelia softly laughs, sliding Natalya's panties up.

When Lorenzo and Iosif try to tug Natalya to her feet, she slips easily from their grasp and cups Ophelia's face, gliding her tongue across the seam of Ophelia's lips until Ophelia parts them, welcoming the kiss with a pleased hum. Ah, if time were not so short, Natalya thinks as she drags the tips of her fingers down to Ophelia's throat, feeling the excited thrum of Ophelia's pulse.

"Soon, darling," Ophelia murmurs, and then she's standing, a hand on Natalya's wrist to pull her up as well.

Natalya nearly crumples back to the couch, her legs weak and shaky, but Iosif deftly catches her, an arm around her waist as if they're engaged in a dance.

"I have you," he says with a smile.

Ophelia's laugh breaks their heated stare, and Natalya is tempted to flash a look of haughty irritation in Ophelia's direction, but the gentle stroke of Ophelia's fingers pulling her panties up the remainder of the way is distracting, as is the shameless slide of Ophelia's fingers over her, the sudden, firm pressure on her clit making Natalya's legs nearly give out.

"Soon, remember?" Lorenzo reminds them as he smoothes the wrinkles from his tux.

Ophelia slings the bag over her shoulder. "Perhaps now," she says with a smile that promises something deliciously wicked.

Lorenzo chuckles with a shake of his head and kisses Ophelia's cheek. "Later will come soon enough, tesorino."

Ophelia responds with a short, low, "Mm," which is her way of ending the conversation when she disagrees, and then she shoos Lorenzo away with several, firm pats to his buttocks. "Run off now and woo the rest of the guests."

With another soft, amused chuckle, he obeys, but not before stealing one more kiss from Ophelia. Natalya straightens her hair while Iosif finishes dressing, and then she steals kisses of her own, from Iosif first before he quietly slips away and then from Ophelia, licking the lingering taste of herself from Ophelia's mouth as she slips the watch that she's wearing into Ophelia's bag.

"Later," Natalya feels she has to remind them both. Then she is slipping down the stairs, feeling lively and almost careless.

In time, she knows. Later is a promise they always keep.


End file.
